


Through All the Cracks

by Brynrei



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Suicide Attempt, Triggers, can be read as platonic or romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-15 00:00:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3430406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brynrei/pseuds/Brynrei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt had no hope in anything; not in himself, nor anyone else in the Maze.<br/>Alby did, and he believed in Newt.</p><p>In other words, Newt's suicide attempt in the Glade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through All the Cracks

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for suicide attempt and ableist slurs.
> 
> The title is loosely based on Quiet as a Mouse by Margot and the Nuclear So and So's.
> 
> People have probably written this already, in which case, sorry(?).

The idea had been growing inside of Newt for what felt like weeks, possibly even months. He didn't know when it had crept into his mind or whether it was discreet or spontaneous, but he did know that it didn’t come without a price.

He thought it might have started that day long ago when his good friend Minho had said, in what could only be described as a matter-of-fact manner, “Sometimes it feels like we’re never getting out and we’re just gonna die and rot in this place anyway.” And then he had laughed.

And the thought had started to tear away at Newt’s mind. It poked and prodded at him. It grew like a cancer and manifested like a virus, tearing at his insides until it became plain fact. It was imprudent and relentless and he was starting to let it control him. It was a relatively simple thought.

He knew that he needed to die.

 

At first, Newt didn't plan it or plot it but he became half hopeful, half apathetic. Every day he ran into the Maze with the silent hope that he might run into a Griever and wouldn't have to come back out. It happened at least twice but each time his blood ran cold and he couldn’t stop himself from sprinting away from it, the instinct to live still just as alive as the will to die. He hated himself for that and each day he started to get more and more obsessed until it was all that he could think about.

One day he snapped.

It was the early morning on a day just like any other, late enough for a few people to be wandering around but still too early for the Runners to have left since the Doors were still closed. Newt walked to the Map Room quietly and was glad to be alone inside. He paced around before starting to get ready. He grabbed the mandatory weaponry; he took a long silver blade as usual. His fingers shook as he handled it and he felt a feeling ghost over him, something vaguely resembling desire.

He couldn’t do it so obviously. He couldn’t let them think he was weak and had killed himself, for the others’ sake. If they thought that one of their elders couldn’t handle it, how could they? No, it had to look accidental. Guilt crept like poison through his veins. He shivered and shook his head, going back to his work.

“What, no breakfast?” a voice called out behind him and he nearly jumped, spinning around to see Minho standing in the vault doorway. “It’s a little early to be going out, isn't it? Unless you plan to climb the walls,” the Keeper said.

“I wanted to get a head start for today, couldn’t sleep well,” Newt answered, feeling like he had been caught in the middle of a crime. In a way, he had been.

Minho nodded, but there seemed to be a hint of doubt in his eyes. “Well, you still can’t go until you've had something to eat.”

“I’ll get to it, okay? I just figured I’d pack everything else first so I wouldn't have to buggin’ do it later.” That was a blatant lie. He had hoped to slip out unnoticed as soon as the Doors had opened so that he wouldn't drain any resources.

Newt pushed past Minho and into the Map Room.

“Hey, Newt?”

He spun around, almost exasperated at Minho’s incessantness. “What?”

“Alby’s been worried about you, and so have I,” he walked to stand in front of Newt and put a hand on his shoulder. “You've been acting weird lately. Are you sure that you’re alright?”

“I’m bloody peachy, Minho. You have nothing to worry about.” Newt shrugged Minho’s hand away and walked out of the room. He only wished that the guilt stirring inside of him was as easy to shrug off.

Newt had decided to eat breakfast and take food with him to seem less suspicious, but he noticed Minho watching him carefully nonetheless. Alby seemed to be as well, but he was caught up in talking to a group of younger Gladers. Newt felt a little betrayed as it was obvious that Minho had told their second-in-command about what had happened earlier that morning. He could only pray that they wouldn't tell Nick, not that they were close friends, but he couldn’t have the leader breathing down his back as well.

Then again: soon, it wouldn't matter.

Just as the Doors opened, Newt left before the majority of the other Runners and sprinted through the Maze. He didn't care about how much energy he wasted; the less he had later, the less likely it was that he would be able to back out again. He was hoping to find a Griever but none were in sight. He ran for a few hours, possibly longer, with sparse breaks as he dashed through all of the twists and turns. He knew the route but that didn't matter to him anymore, since he wouldn't be back to write the maps anyway.

Eventually he stopped. There were no Grievers around, just as he needed them. He started to backtrack, hoping that staying in relatively the same place would give him a greater chance of being caught by one. He waited for a long time then started slowly making his way back towards the Glade.

It was past noon when Newt started growing increasingly agitated.

He looked up at the sky to see the sun casting a warm glow on the vines on the wall. An idea occurred to him. He felt stupid for not considering it earlier; maybe he had but had thought it futile. He might as well give it a chance now. Without hesitation, he reached for the closest vine and pulled it towards him. It ripped off of the wall but held taut near the top. He put his weight on it by leaning his feet against the wall and pulling back. It didn't break.

Slowly, Newt started climbing up the vines, testing each one as he rose up towards the top of the wall. He was at least thirty feet up after about twenty minutes. He climbed faster, higher. His arms ached after a while and he stopped himself at what felt like halfway up the wall and looked down. The ground was many feet below: a sickening drop.

Despite himself, he was calm. The height didn't terrify him. The blood pounding in his ears drowned out his thoughts of doubt and all he wanted was for it to stop beating. Desperation clawed at him. He loosened the vines around his feet so that he hung just with his arms. Then he let go altogether and pushed himself off of the wall.

He fell partially feet-first as the ground rushed up to meet him. He heard a nauseating crack and a bloodcurdling scream. Then everything turned dark.

 

A sharp burst of pain woke him. Newt gasped, opening his eyes. His ears were ringing and his vision was blurred. A dull ache pulsed through his head, getting worse with the flashes of light exploding in his eyes.

“Newt? Newt!”

The voice sounded muffled to him and he blinked to clear his vision. A familiar face was looking over him and Newt squinted at it.

Alby.

Panic gripped him and he wanted to scream. Why wasn't he dead?

“Newt, listen to me. Can you hear me?” Alby gently slapped his face.

Newt didn't respond, only attempted to push himself up to a sitting position. He scrambled away from Alby and towards the wall, panting heavily. A sharp, flaring pain shot through his right leg, emitting a cry from him, but he ignored it, not even bothering to look. His vision swam. The sight in his left eye darkened and he thought he had gone half-blind for a moment before he realized that it didn't matter.

“Newt!” Alby grabbed him by the shoulders just as he was desperately reaching for the vines again. He spun him around to face him. “What do you think you’re playing at? You ain't dying: not now, not ever.” His tone was strict but his eyes betrayed him as they were filled with tears. He was scared.

Newt stared at him in stunned silence. He felt wetness stinging at his own eyes and his left eye cleared slightly, the darkness receding. His mouth felt dry as he had barely had any water earlier in the day. He opened his mouth to speak, but only two words came out: “Alby... Please.”

Alby shook his head and was about to say something before Newt interrupted him.

“Please, Alby. I can’t take it anymore. Just let me end it. You don’t have to watch. Please.” He choked out the last part, searching his friend’s eyes. His voice was wavering. “Just leave.”

“Newt, you know I can’t do that,” Alby said.

Newt’s heart sank. “ _Please_ ,” he whispered again in hopes of convincing him. His head was starting to hurt something awful and he put his palm to his forehead. There was blood on his hand when he pulled it away. He felt relieved at the realization that it must have leaked into his eyes and caused the temporary vision loss.

Alby took Newt’s blood-stained hand by the wrist and looked his friend in the eyes. “You ain't dying, shuck-face. You can’t convince me to let you go.”

Newt pulled his arm away and tried to stand up, ignoring Alby. As soon as he put weight on his right foot, he screamed and fell back down, crashing into the wall behind him. The pain was unbearable and he looked down at his right foot for the first time. His whole foot was livid, including most of his shin, but his ankle looked the worst. It was purple and swollen, bent inwards too far and at an odd angle; there was no doubt that it was broken and set wrong.

Despite the pain, Newt felt the urge to laugh. “Look at me, Alby. If I wasn't useless before, I am now.” He gestured to his ankle, feeling himself diverging into hysterics. “Nothing will fix that. Might as well cut my leg off and throw it to the Grievers. I’m bloody shucked.”

“You listen here, slinthead,” Alby leaned over him again and shook his shoulders, breaking him out of his hysteria. “I ain't losing you, no matter the cost. Can’t stand to live for yourself? Fine. Live for me. For us. Minho and I love you. Ben and Gally and the others do too, although they’ll never admit it. We need you. You’re our friend and you’re a leader. Act like one.”

“What’re you talking about? I’m no leader, Alby. Never was, never will be.”

“Alright. I’ll make you one. I’m second-in-command now and Nick said he might retire soon. Can’t run? You think you’re worthless? Well, you ain't, because you’re going to be my second-in-command just as soon as I’m leader. Until then, you’re just as powerful as I am.”

Newt stared at him. He shook his head then and turned away, feeling the tears finally breaking free and running down his cheeks as sobs racked him. Something was shattering inside of him all over again. “Why did you have to come and find me?” he asked Alby breathlessly and met his eyes again. “Why couldn’t you just do your bloody job and _leave me alone_?” He was screaming at this point as rage overtook his sadness.

“Newt--”

"I hate this place, Alby. We've been here almost _two buggin’ years_ and nothing’s changed. I remember I had a sister but I can’t see her face; it’s a complete blank. And I feel, I know, that I will never see her again. I can’t handle thinking about stuff like that. Just let me go.”

“Slim it for a second, Newt, if you’re going to--”

“No, _you_ slim it, Alby!” Newt screamed, cutting him off again abruptly. “You expect me to help you lead a group of people like I didn't just make myself a bloody invalid. Hit my head too, probably have a concussion that will make me even crazier. You just feel sorry for me, trying to make me stay here by giving me a piece of klunk incentive. I hate this place too much for that to work.”

Before Alby could respond, Newt’s hand flew to where he had pocketed his knife in its sheath. He took it out and brought it towards himself. Alby lunged for his wrist and gripped it, digging his thumbnail hard into the skin below Newt’s palm. Newt yelped and released the knife. It scattered to the ground and Alby kicked it away before the other could reach for it again.

“Pipe up those klunk ears of yours and listen, Newt,” Alby said, still gripping his wrist tightly. His tone was stricter, almost flaring with anger. “I may be new to being a leader, and I may be biased because you’re my friend, but I ain't stupid. I know who to pick. You've got more heart than any one of those other shanks in the Glade. You’re as selfless as they come. But what you’re doing now, right here: that’s selfish. It ain't you. And I need you to reconsider.”

He slowly let go of Newt’s wrist and instead quietly embraced the younger boy. Newt felt a fresh wave of tears streaming down his cheeks and forced himself to hold back his sobs. He let himself wrap his arms around Alby, slowly, and rested his head on his shoulder. Alby gently pat his back and pulled back, turning Newt’s face towards him with one hand so that he could look him in the eye.

“I love you, okay? We all do. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you because you’re one of the best shanks I've ever met. And if you still wanna die, shuck it, I’ll just drag you back to the Glade anyway. But I’d like it if you came willingly.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Newt felt his breathing settle and he met Alby’s gaze again. “Okay.” He still wasn't completely sure but the guilt of what he had done and still wanted in the back of his mind overwhelmed him. He forced himself to nod in agreement. “I’ll go.”

“You ready, then? The Doors ain't staying open much longer so we gotta move it.”

Newt closed his eyes and swallowed, then he nodded slowly and looked back up at Alby. “Yeah,” he whispered. He wiped the tears off of his face with his hands, careful to stop himself from smearing the blood back on his face.

“And Newt?”

“What?”

"Don’t expect this kind of sappy klunk from me again. That was a one-time deal. Ain't happening again.”

Newt smiled at that and let Alby help him get up. He leaned on Alby with his right arm wrapped around his shoulders. Alby walked slowly and Newt hopped on his left foot, wincing and almost crying out every time his other foot touched the ground by accident.

“I ain't tellin’ a soul about this so long as you keep your mouth shut ‘bout me getting soft on you,” Alby added along the way.

Newt could only nod and look ahead at the Maze in front of them. For the first time in weeks, he thought that maybe things could be alright.


End file.
